


Remember

by bottledspirits



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledspirits/pseuds/bottledspirits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the curse breaks, Gold plays at private detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from. Also, I proof nothing.

He remembered a girl. Young and pretty, kind and joyful. She’d hung around with some young buck, the star of the high school football team. He was handsome and brooding, everything a girl that age was supposed to swoon over. Always trailed after her with a perpetual frown, brows knit in contemplation, like he was never quite sure what to make of her. But he loved her, the way a moth loves the flame.

She, for her part, loved him. They were always together. Always driving in that car of his, the only thing that rivaled her for his attention. She sat in the seat beside him and laughed as her hair whipped wildly in the wind. He drove fast to impress her and leaned over to kiss her with one hand on the wheel.

There had been an accident. There always was, wasn’t there? Always the young, the bright, the hopeful. The story in the newspaper called it a tragedy, drew a picture of both as talented youths with good futures ahead of them. But no more.

There had been a line about the girl. She brought light into the lives of those around her. That light was gone now, they said.

He remembered that night. Remembered not giving a damn. Two teenagers driving too fast on a rainy night, typical stupid kids. He’d watched the flashing lights pass in front of his window and grimaced. Always such a fuss over what people should have come to expect by now. Girls like that always went for boys like him. Silly giggling girls and their brutish, hulking boyfriends. Their ‘knights in shining armor’, they called them. They were made for each other.

Then he remembered. Really remembered.

There had been bright blue eyes, a slight, knowing smile. There was a feeling of light – natural light, real light – flooding his senses suddenly, so fast it hurt. There was a warmth in arms, a sensation of fabric against his skin.

And then he panicked. There had to something – a photo, a newspaper clipping. There had to be something of her left in this town.

He searched high and low through old newspaper offices, creaking file cabinets with dust lining the bottom of the drawers. There was an article, but no pictures. No one seemed to know what he was asking about. They had vague recollections of an accident, of what a tragedy it was, but that was all.

He went to the coroner, the funeral home, the cemetery. No one remembered. No one could tell him where the headstone was. They could not even tell him her name.

“That was years ago, sir,” they said. They spoke to him stiffly, politely, not sure why he was interested. “Our records don’t go back that far. Have you tried the mayor’s office?”

Of course. Of course it would be there. But he knew it wouldn’t before he even bothered to look. Why would anyone bother leaving a record of a girl who never existed?

He got desperate. One night when there was barely anything left in the bottle of amber liquid on the desk, when all the files and papers and clippings before him spelled out the same inevitable truth they had been screaming at him for weeks, he snapped. Took what was left in the bottle in one long draught and got his keys. He went to the hospital.

No one was there. Oh, there was staff scattered here and there, all tired-looking and absorbed in the same work that had filled their minds for the last 28 years. No matter. He could find what he wanted on his own.

A few people stopped him, asked if he was looking for someone. He shook them off and said it was business. And he knew his business.

All the same, could they point him in the direction of the…

“Of course, sir. Down the hall and to the…”

He heard it many times. He knew he was being misdirected, whether they were doing it consciously or not. It was a special kind of magic, bureaucracy. But they would not keep him from his destination.

She had died here, and the records would confirm it. They could give him that much. To hell if Regina knew he knew afterward. It was worth it to know, to see a fragment of her in this world he’d allowed himself to be hurled into.

He found it eventually. Not here, not there, not in the thousand places he’d been told to look. A room in the back of the hospital. The hallways was dim. Several lights had burned out and no one bothered to replace them in an old, disused corner of the building like this.

The door was locked. He rattled it harder than necessary, gripping it like a vise in his irritation. He’d have to find someone with a key to unlock the damn thing. He’d end up chasing about all over the place, and by then a little birdie would have slipped word to Regina that he was here, snooping about. She’d arrive, smirking and demure, and ask him what he was after. She’d know.

But it was worth it. Worth it, his alcohol-addled brain told him as he stalked back up the hall toward the nearest desk.

That’s when he saw it. A steel door marked EXIT, only it was in a place that couldn’t possibly lead to the outside. He was in the heart of the bloody hospital, for God’s sake. Where would a door like that lead out?

Furthermore, he thought as he stepped closer, why was there a keypad on this door? A great thing to have in an emergency. And as much as he’d seen of the hospital that night, he knew there wasn’t much of an emphasis on security. This was the first keypad he’d seen. What made this door so special?

He examined it carefully, looking over the buttons. They’d hardly been used, but four of the numbers were more faded than the others. He reached out and typed the first combination that came to mind.

No good. He tried again. And again. On the fourth try, the display lit up and he heard the door unlock.

Typical. Regina was never original about these things. He was surprised it had taken him so long to guess.

He opened the door as calmly as possible, trying to assume a careless air that would tell anyone watching that he knew what he was about. He glanced around as he crossed the threshold, but no one was looking. In fact, no one was around. This part of the hospital was as empty and quiet as a graveyard.

A flight of stairs, as dark as the hall upstairs, brought him to a kind of waiting room. There was a desk at the center of it. He squinted in the gloom – this room received even less care than the hall where the records were kept. He shuffled about, trying to be quiet despite the fact that no one else was around. There was a feeling about this place, a sort of tension that spoke of something sinister lurking about. He could feel a presence, as if someone was close by, but it was muffled by the starkness of it all, the bare walls and the drone of some far-off machinery.

There was a hallway to the left. He went toward it, curious now. What could Regina be keeping down here, hidden behind a falsely marked door? He stepped into the hall, dodging drips from exposed pipes that ran along the ceiling. It was as close to a dungeon as one could find in this world. What was the point of it?

He found a door and stopped. It was made of steel, riveted so securely that he couldn’t help wondering what Regina could be trying to keep in. This door couldn’t stop an ogre, but it could damn well give it some trouble.

There was a latch in the door at about eye level. He lifted it and nearly dropped it in surprise when he saw what was inside. Steeling himself, he lifted the latch again and peered in once more.

The room beyond was filled with pale light that poured from a long, barred window on the far wall. To the right was a padded ledge. Looking at it, he realized it was supposed to be a bed.

But the room was empty. What was she keeping it for? Or rather, who?

He lowered the latch and continued down the hall. There were more doors, all like the one he’d seen. Whoever was in here was not meant to get out. This was a prison, but unlike the occupants of the tidy cells in the Sheriff’s station, the people here were not meant to see the light of day.

A strange flutter accompanied the thought. Suddenly the hall was too narrow, the ceiling too close to the floor. He remembered darkness, the smell of damp and burning pitch, the feel of grit under his fingers as he clawed uselessly at the dirt around him.

He paused to lean a hand on the wall, the other clutching his chest as he tried to steady his breath. He didn’t know what it was about this room that took him back to that place. His mind drifted unpleasantly to another dungeon, a place that smelled of stone and straw and…

His eyes flew open. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to drink so much, to let his emotions get the better of him. He would leave, go home and throw out every scrap of paper he had accumulated over the past weeks since he’d encountered a hapless blonde in the front room of an inn that never had any guests.

He stood and took his hand from the wall, preparing to turn and leave this place like so much dust on his shoes. As he moved, something caught his eye.

The nearest door had a name plaque – they all did, though they were all empty. But this one lacked the blank cards that were to found in the others. Someone had purposefully removed the card from this door, as if to say that it was not to be used.

Curiosity arose again, and he shuffled toward that door. It was cold down here, but it felt colder still as he stepped closer. Frowning, he looked up and saw a vent over the door. There was a barely perceptible hum coming from the grate. He held up a hand and felt chill air blowing from it.

He pulled his hand away. There was a latch on this door as well, and he lifted it in one gloved hand while the other wrapped around the head of his cane, steadying his feet while he craned forward to peer into the room.

What he saw should have shocked him. Should have surprised him, at least. Instead he felt a strange calm overcome him. Like the soothing burn of whiskey, he could feel it coursing in his veins. His head was lighter than it had been minutes before.

Someone sat on the narrow shelf that served for a bed down here. Their hair was long and matted, but in the light from the window he could see it was a light brown, with highlights that caught and sparkled in the moonlight.

He drew closer to the door, pressing against it with his whole body. He was not aware of moving, did not realize his breath had grown short and shallow, did not feel as his cane slipped from his grasp and came to rest against the door with a light clatter. All he was aware of was that half of himself was missing, huddled in that room like a creature that had been dragged from the light and locked away in the darkness. He ached for it, for her, the girl trapped on the other side of the glass. His mind did not comprehend how or why, merely contracted around that shivering form like the light at the end of a very long tunnel.

But she heard. Her head snapped up, and it was all he could do not to cry out in response to the slightest motion from that creature. Locks of unkempt hair fell away to reveal her face, gaunt and drawn into an expression of suspicion. Only her eyes seemed undiminished. They were the same startling blue as before, the same keen stare and focused gaze. They drew him from his reverie and caused him to come back to himself.

With one long look at the girl, he forced himself to let out a breath and lowered the latch. It would not matter if he lost sight of her for a moment. Soon he would be able to see her, touch her, make sure she was real and safe.

He put his hand on the doorknob. It would not turn. He froze. For a moment he stared at it, then he shook it with a violence that was surprising for such a small man. He swore and let go of the knob.

A fury rose in him. Like the eerie calm that had overtaken him earlier, it swept through him until he felt little else. His head pounded and his hands grew damp.

Turning suddenly, he rushed down the hall without bothering to retrieve his cane, pain in his leg be damned. He arrived at the desk below the stairs and began turning out drawers. Papers scattered in his wake. His hands shook as he worked, made clumsier by the leather gloves he wore, and he tore them off and shoved them in his pockets with an impatient gesture.

He was damned near screaming when he came upon a set of keys carelessly left under a pile of folders. He grabbed at them, feeling the edge of a file scratch at his hand, but did no more than let out a hiss as he pulled the keys away.

He did not know how much time it took to cross the distance between the desk and the door down the hall, but it felt like hardly a second had passed, his heart beating almost painfully as he moved.

The keys seemed to dance out of his grip as he marshaled them into order. There was no knowing which key opened which door, but damned if he wouldn’t try every single one of them ten times, if that’s what it took.

His hands shook as he took hold of the first key, and he cursed himself – cursed his hands, cursed his nerves, cursed the way his whole body seemed to quake as he stood before the door. His eyes burned and his pulse was deafening in his ears.

He tried the key. It wasn’t big enough for the lock. He took it out irritably, flicking it down the ring as he looked for one of the right size, discounting any that were the same as the first. He came upon one that was a different color than the rest, and he tried it. It stuck. He ground his teeth and jerked at the key until it came loose again. He was feeling desperate now. He needed to be cautious. What if he broke the lock? What then?

There was another key of the right size. This one was jet black, like old iron. It was cold in his hand, as if drawing the very warmth from his fingers. He forced himself to take even breaths as he slipped it in the lock, pausing when it went in with ease. With the slightest twitch of his fingers, he turned the key, his heart giving a stutter when he heard the click of the tumblers as they moved into place.

He turned the handle without bothering to remove the key. Damned to whoever found them there. He could toss them on the desk on his way out, if he felt the need.

For all his fury, he felt fear rise in him as he pushed the door open. He remembered those eyes, focused on him with an intensity that bordered on contempt. There was an echo of those eyes somewhere in his memory, an echo that was surrounded the smell of straw and roses.

He released the door as his courage failed him, not wanting to see what was behind it. But the door was already in motion. It swung inward, revealing a blank wall colored silver in the moonlight, below it a bed that had been occupied moments before, occupied by…

She was standing in the center of the room. He gave a start when he saw her. There was a fierceness in her features as she stood before him, her shoulders drawn back and her chin jutting forward as she stared at him. There was beauty also. The light shone behind her, lighting around her slight frame and softening the lengths of matted hair that tumbled around her shoulders.

“Who are you?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse, but apart from that it was the same as he remembered.

He remembered. Oh, he remembered. Remembered so many things, some pleasant and some not, but all tempered by a feeling he could not quite pin down – longing, sadness, bitterness…love.

“I…” he began, but that seemed to be all he was capable of, for his lips pressed closed and the burning in his eyes was soothed as his vision blurred. The girl before him became lost in a sea of color and light.

He crumpled at her feet, sobbing in a way that he knew he should have been ashamed of, but all he could think was that she was here, that she was whole, and that nothing that he or the world had done had been able to diminish the fire that burned in her eyes.

He longed to reach out, to touch her. But he knew this vision might vanish if he reached out and found only air, as he had countless times before, and he dared not bring an end to this dream, the sweetest of tortures.

“A-are you all right?” he heard her say. He could not reply. He couldn’t bring himself to draw his eyes away from the floor.

He heard the rustle of her gown and held his breath as she knelt beside him. He felt the warmth of her body through the thin garment, and the sensation only intensified as she reached out and put a hand to his shoulder. With the other hand she brushed the hair from his eyes and placed two fingers under his chin, gently pushing him to look at her. He did so willingly, not believing what was happening.

“Are you hurt?” she asked. Her voice was softer now, and she looked at him with a tenderness that he both longed for and feared. He remembered it from long ago, but it was different now. She looked at him the way she would look at a stranger, but she did so kindly. Always kind.

With his heart in his throat, he reached out and pressed his fingers to her cheek. Her skin was warm under his. She looked at him in puzzlement, her eyebrows furrowed lightly, but did not move away.

“Would you like to leave this place?” he whispered. He dared not speak louder, lest he break the spell on this place that allowed them to be together, to touch one another.

Her eyes widened and he felt her hand tighten on his shoulder.

“Could we?” she asked breathlessly, her voice no louder than his.

There was something in the way she looked at him, fragile and full of hope, that roused his strength.

“Right now,” he said, drawing from her grasp to rise to his feet. He helped her to stand before turning toward the door.

“Oh!” she cried, and he froze.

When he looked around, she was staring at her hand, and he felt his blood run cold at the sight of a smear of red on her palm. Before he could move, however, she had crossed the room and taken his hands in her own, turning them over to reveal where he had cut his hand earlier while searching for the keys.

“Your hand,” she cooed, drawing the injured appendage closer to examine it in the wan light that filled the room.

“It’s…no matter,” he said gently as he drew his hand from hers. She looked up at him as he did, and he almost relented at the look of concern in her eyes.

“I’ll see to it later,” he assured her. That seemed to satisfy her, and she returned his assurance with a small smile. The expression caused a stirring in his heart that was almost painful.

He looked around and found his cane lying on the floor. He bent and retrieved it while she looked on curiously.

“Is that what made that noise? I heard something fall outside my door,” she told him.

“Yes,” he said. They had no time to talk. He gripped his cane with one hand and used the other to take her slight fingers in his, leading her from the room and down the hall. He let her go only for the time it took to pull the key from the lock and slam the door shut behind them.

Papers were strewn about the floor. He walked through the mess to toss the keys on the desk. He felt her tug on his hand and turned to see her lagging behind, picking her way over the papers in her bare feet.

“Do you have any shoes?” he asked. She looked up at him and did not respond right away.

“No,” she said, and he saw color rise in her cheeks as she looked away. He gripped her hand tighter in response.

“It just means we’ll have to hurry,” he said gently.

She smiled at him, and he felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward in response. He took a small pride in being able to return the smile to her face. He quelled it as best he could in order to put his mind to the task of getting them both out of the hospital. Not for the first time he wished he hadn’t had so much to drink that night.

“This way,” he said, pulling her toward the stairs with as light a touch as he could manage. “Watch your step.”

They went up the stairs slowly, him trying not to put a strain on his knee while she was clearly unused to moving outside her room. The thought brought new fury to him, but he quashed that too, not wanting to give himself over to rage when what he needed was a calm head.

“Stay behind me,” he said as they reached the door atop the stairs. He needn’t have bothered. She was standing as close to him as she could, not wanting to be lost in this place she was unfamiliar with, to lose the only person in so many years who had looked her in the eye and taken such care with her.

He opened the door and looked out. The hall was still empty. It was deserted enough at this time of night that he was fairly certain he could get them to an exit without running into anyone. Once outside, getting to the car would be easier under the cover of darkness, but he was afraid of exposing her to the cold too long, barefoot and barely dressed as she was.

There were voices down the hall. He put a hand back to usher her down a step while he drew the door back. He left just a crack, through which he could see two people walking past. One was a man, tall and blonde, laughing as he told some joke to a smaller, dark-haired woman who walked beside him.

When they were gone, he swung the door open and led the girl out. His sense of urgency was increased by the close call.

“This way,” he said, drawing her in the opposite direction that the other two had gone. She seemed to sense his tension and did not speak, following obediently after him.

They passed an empty ward. He paused to glance around. The open space made him nervous, but there had to be an exit nearby.

As he looked around, he spotted someone sitting next to the only occupied bed in the ward. He recognized the two figures. Neither was any harm to him, but he did not want to be seen.  Fortunately, the woman in the chair was turned away, focused on a book in her lap, and the man had his eyes closed. They were separated from the rest of the ward by a glass wall. It made it easier for him to lead the girl past unnoticed, though he heard the woman’s muffled voice as they passed.

He turned and saw the girl staring through the glass with bright, curious eyes. She must have felt his gaze, for she looked at him. They said nothing, but she looked back at him with a steady countenance, and he drew her away as quickly as he dared.

The exit was just beyond the ward. He shouldered the door open and waved for her to pass. She stepped through in a hurry, but paused outside the door. He walked out behind her and stopped to watch her. She was staring. The dark, clouded sky, the damp asphalt of the parking lot that glittered in the yellow light, the distant sounds of traffic – all seemed to fascinate her.

Suddenly she remembered herself and looked to where he stood, silent and impassive. A smile lit her face, and her eyes were shining.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. His chest contracted painfully – a dirty parking lot, beautiful? What must her life have been like these past 28 years?

Before he could say anything, a breeze crept through the air around them. It tugged at her knotted hair and plucked the edges of her gown. He saw her shiver.

“Here,” he said, letting go of her hand so he could take off his jacket. She said nothing as he put it over her shoulders, only watched him, her eyes lingering on his shoulders. He stood back stiffly, self-conscious under her gaze.

When their eyes met, she only smiled. He felt another flutter in his stomach.

He led her to his car. She looked over the vehicle curiously as he patted his pockets for his keys. He remembered leaving them in his jacket.

She glanced at him as he stepped beside her. He was careful to meet her gaze before reaching, slowly, for his jacket pocket.

“Excuse me,” he said. He touched the garment as lightly as he dared, which turned out to be counterproductive, as he had to grasp the hem in one hand as he felt in the pocket for his keys. She did not seem to mind in the least.

He drew the keys out at last and went to unlock the passenger door. She watched him, and he realized she didn’t know what he meant her to do. He held the door open and bowed, gesturing for her to get inside. He couldn’t help smiling.

She realized his intentions and stepped forward. He heard her giggle. From his stance, he saw one pale, slender leg rise to step into the car. He closed his eyes and stood, waiting until she was sitting comfortably – albeit with a puzzled look – in the car to close the door behind her.

He was aware of her watching as he went around the front of the car to unlock his own door. He got in the car awkwardly, as he always did, thanks to his knee, and brought the door closed behind him much less care than he did with her. He forced himself not to look at her as he set his cane down and put the key in the ignition, but he made a show of checking all the mirrors so he could glance at her from the corner of his eye.

She wasn’t looking at him, but at the ignition, clearly fascinated. He turned the key and grinned when the car roared to life and she jumped, squeaking in her surprise.

“Is it supposed to do that?” she asked, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him.

“Most of the time,” he said with an impish grin.

He reached around her slowly, mindful not to get too close, and pulled at the seat belt.

“Here, you need this,” he said. He secured the belt around her and gave it a tug to make sure it would stay in place.

“What about you?” she asked as he drew back. He looked up and found her regarding his own seat belt. He gave her a look, but she stared back with look he only remembered receiving from his mother.

With an impatient noise, he put on his seat belt. When he was done, he looked at her, making a grand flourish with his hands to show he was finished. She only smiled at him. He pursed his lips as he looked away.

A flush on his cheeks, he turned his attention to his driving, pulling out of the parking lot just slow enough so not to draw attention. He turned the knob for the heater absently as he drove, just as he’d done a million times before, mindful of how she must have felt the cold. She jerked back in her seat as the warm air touched her face. He couldn’t help but laugh at that, a short bark that drew her attention faster than the heater had. She looked startled, but she caught the amusement in his eyes and relaxed, letting out a slow chuckle of her own.

He sped up on the road. He knew where the Sheriff was – or rather, who he was with – at this time of night, so he had no qualms going over the speed limit.

Meanwhile he felt her gaze as she watched in rapt attention. His eyes darted in her direction as often as he could spare them, though more often than he knew they should. She moved suddenly, causing him to start and look in her direction. He found himself staring at her thighs as she leaned toward him.

She steadied herself on his thigh as she moved closer.

“Is it hard?” she asked, and his mind sprinted in a thousand directions at once.

When he didn’t answer, she cast a curious look at him and pointed to the wheel.

“Can anyone do it?” she asked, and he understood her intent.

“Yes,” he breathed, relief clear in his voice. “It just takes time to learn.”

He swallowed hard and steeled his nerves, focusing on the road ahead of him. Not on the hand on his leg or the way it tightened around him as they rounded a corner.

She sat back as they turned, not used to the motion of the car. Her hand remained on his leg. Whether it was that she had forgotten it was there, or that she was unwilling to give up the touch, he could not say.

“Is it always this fast?” she asked faintly as she watched trees and houses fly by outside the window, all blurred by the rapid motion of the car. She gave his leg a light squeeze.

“Not always,” he said, his voice low. He lifted his foot from the gas pedal ever so lightly and felt her grip on his thigh relax in response. He had not thought that she would be frightened by the speed of the car. Given her response to everything she had seen since leaving her room, he wondered if she had ever left it before.

They drove in silence for some time. She was preoccupied with watching the scenery pass outside the window, and he was too busy watching both her and the road to think of much to say. Every now and then he would glance out the window, feeling like he was looking over his shoulder. No one had noticed them, no one had stopped them. He could only hope it stayed that way.

The street was quiet when he stopped in front of the house. He pretended to absorb himself in the process of parking the car, but his attention was really on her. She was staring up at the house where it loomed in the darkness, if it was possible for anything with so much pink to loom.

He took off his seat belt slowly, waiting to get her attention before trying to remove hers. She noticed the silence and turned. As she did, she finally remembered her hand on his leg.

“Sorry,” she said, pulling away slowly. His skin was hot where she had touched him. She folded her hands in her lap, carefully cradling the hand that had rested on his thigh.

“No matter,” he said gently.

He reached over and unfastened her seat belt. She watched curiously as he did so, raising an eyebrow as the belt gave a click and loosened.

“What’s it for?” she asked. She took hold of the belt and tugged, laughing when it slowly retracted again. He couldn’t help smiling.

“It’s supposed to keep you safe,” he replied.

She looked at him, and he could tell she meant to ask a question, but he dodged her curiosity by grabbing his cane and clambering out the door. She waited for him to walk around and open the door, seeing as she didn’t know how to operate it anyway. When it was open, she took the handle and moved it back and forth, watching the latch move in response. He fought back a grin.

Thankfully the door didn’t hold her attention for too long. Once her curiosity was satisfied, she stepped out of the car and moved away so he could close it behind her. She wrapped her arms around her as the cold began to seep into her once more.

He noticed her discomfort and reached for her, fingers brushing against her elbow in the lightest of touches. She turned at that, and he nodded to the house.

“This way,” he said, hurrying up the steps as fumbled with the keys.

He was too busy unlocking the door to notice the way she hesitated on the threshold. Her hands curled against her chest as she stared at his back. He opened the door and turned to bring her inside, only to find she’d backed away to the top of the steps.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, frowning.

 She bit her lip.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he assured her. He moved closer, but she drew back, and he froze.

“You’ll be safe here,” he said, trying to sound kind, though the doubt in her eyes felt like a dagger through his heart.

At the word “safe” her eyes locked onto his.

“Safe?” she repeated.

“Of course,” he said firmly. As if he would allow her to be anything but safe from now on.

She looked at him doubtfully.

“And you?” she asked.

He blinked.

“Me?” he asked, puzzled.

She pressed her lips together, as if to stop herself from crying. It was clear from the bewildered look on his face that he did not understand what she meant.

“Will you be safe?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. There was something sad in her tone, and it clearly cost her dearly to speak.

He shook his head to dispel his confusion like a dog shaking the water from its coat.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked.

She lowered her gaze and would not meet his eyes.

“Sometimes I…I think that I was in that room because I’m…I’m…I’m not…”

The meaning of her words swept over him suddenly. He felt a wave of emotion rise in response. Not only was she locked away, but she thought she deserved it? That it wasn’t safe for her to be around other people?

“Oh no, love,” he said. Before he could think, he’d crossed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. He felt her stiffen, but couldn’t bring himself to let go. “No, Belle. You wouldn’t hurt a soul.”

He heard a stifled sob and felt her move as she pressed her hands to her face.

“How could you know that? How could you know?” she cried, and he held her tighter to him.

The weight of the whole night bore down on him then, as well as all the nights before, the searching and hoping, the guilt and despair, until it seemed he had spent a lifetime waiting for his girl to return to him in some way or another.

He buried his face in her hair and felt his own tears begin.

“Because I remember.”


End file.
